Captives of Cheyner Close Read online

  ‘Only because my father had the woods properly fenced when he bought it from the old Manor estate,’ Tara said. ‘Plenty of barbed wire to keep out trespassers, so we won’t be disturbed. That’s what makes it such a good place for our base.’

  ‘Does that mean we have to go all the way round by the lanes to get to the Close?’ Sian asked.

  ‘No. I had Simon make a concealed opening in the fence so it opens onto the fields. We can cut across them by keeping to the hedges. You’ll see it all later.’

  Cassie had been looking thoughtful. Now she said: ‘Is Simon … you know … all right?’

  Tara was surprised. ‘You’ve seen him round the Rise often enough. He’s harmless.’

  ‘But we’re staying in his garden. Can we … trust him?’

  ‘Well, he’s not suddenly going to jump on you, if that’s what you mean.’

  The other girls sniggered derisively at the idea. Sian grinned. ‘I dunno. He’s got a great butt on him.’

  ‘Don’t forget the six-pack abs,’ Hazel added with a giggle.

  ‘What matters is that he won’t tell anyone we’re here and does what I tell him,’ Tara said. ‘He built those special bits of equipment to my designs and never asked what they were for.’

  ‘Seems like you’ve got him well trained,’ Cassie smirked.

  ‘It’s because this cottage came with the woods,’ Tara explained. ‘It was easier to leave it standing and let Simon stay here as a sort of unpaid keeper. That makes him cooperative. Of course, when my father decides to develop the land it all goes.’

  ‘And Simple Simon gets the boot?’ Cassie said with a knowing chuckle.

  ‘Probably,’ Tara agreed.

  ‘That’s a bit … unfair,’ Gail said.

  ‘If anything goes wrong with the plan,’ Daniela pointed out, ‘he might get blamed as well –’

  ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ Tara declared firmly.

  ‘Don’t worry about Stupid Simon,’ Sian said. ‘He’s no better than the people living in the Close.’

  ‘At least he knows his place,’ Tara corrected her. ‘The residents in the Close don’t. That’s what this week’s for: to remind them exactly where they belong.’

  They had set off just after midnight.

  Tara looked round the nervous but excited group as they stood ready to depart. All were gloved, booted and masked and their clothing was dark and loose. Each carried torches with shaded lenses, as the night was darker than when Daniela had made her raid on Fanning’s house.

  ‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘You’ve studied the map and you know your targets. We enter exactly at one o’clock. Get in, do your stuff and get out fast. We meet back at the big oak where the three hedges join. Any questions? OK: let’s go.’

  She led the way along a path that wound through the trees away from the cottage. In a few minutes they reached the edge of the wood where it was separated from the open fields by a high mesh fence topped by three strands of barbed wire. They made their way along this until they came to the section Simon had modified. The mesh appeared continuous but it was held in place by hooks and could be folded back. They squeezed through the gap and headed out over the fields, hugging the shadow of hedgerows towards the lonely fuzz of yellow streetlight that illuminated Cheyner Close …

  By ten to one Tara was kneeling in the cover of tall oilseed stalks looking across the narrow strip of rough grass that edged the field at the back fence of Number 8. It was Major Warwick’s house and her target for the night. She felt an almost sexual excitement coursing through her. The challenge of successfully overcoming so many obstacles and then seeing the effects of her actions on the residents was more rewarding than any sport.

  When she’d first started raiding anybody could slip through a couple of loose boards in the fence and come out in the gap between and the shed. However Warwick had soon nailed them back in place and capped his fence with spiked strips of hard plastic. Other residents had taken similar measures, but they had all been bypassed with the devices Simon had made for her. Alarm wires strung along the fence tops had been negated with lengths of fishing line used to set off numerous false alarms from a safe distance. Security lights linked to motion sensors had been put out with a borrowed high-power air rifle. It was too expensive for the residents to keep replacing them so eventually they were removed. For that Tara had allowed them a few weeks’ rest from raids, serving as both a reward and a reminder that they were not to try too hard to spoil her fun.

  At one o’clock exactly the raid began.

  Tara broke cover and crossed to the fence, extending a lightweight sliding ladder as she went; thrilling at the knowledge that at that moment the others were using similar devices to effect their entries.

  Bracing legs unfolded from the end of the ladder, bridging over the fence and resting on the roof of the shed. Tara climbed the ladder, dropped onto the roof of the shed, then lowered herself down into the gap between it and the fence.

  Hardly daring to breath Tara crouched against the side of the shed, straining her ears and eyes. But all was silent and dark. She edged out of its shelter and started forward. She heard the footsteps behind her just too late …

  A sack was jammed over her head and pulled down to envelop her upper body, trapping her arms. Before she could cry out she was shoved forwards so that she sprawled face down onto the ground. Somebody knelt across her back, driving the wind from her lungs and pulling a drawstring round the neck of the sack tight, binding her arms to her sides. As she gasped for breath, the coarse material of the sack was forced into her mouth by a rope being tied about her head, forming a crude gag.

  As she lay on the damp grass, wheezing and confused, Major Warwick’s voice spoke softly but triumphantly in her ear: ‘This is the end for you, Tara Ashwell!’

  Tara jerked out of her restless sleep again. She ached all over. The heat of the day had drained out of the house and a pre-dawn chill had entered the room. Still desperately tired, she huddled down against the warm flesh on either side of her …

  It had been the worst shock of her life.

  Warwick hauled Tara to her feet and marched her forward. Hooded by her sack, numb with shock and half-choked by her gag, she was in no condition to resist.

  Grass became flagstones under her feet, then a gate was unlatched and swung open and she was shoved through. The cloying orange glow of a streetlight filtered through the coarse weave of her sack. She was dragged forward again through another gate, stumbling over a curbstone, across asphalt and back onto grass once more, where she was forced down onto her knees. In her confusion Tara swayed unsteadily and would have toppled over but for Warwick’s steadying hand on her shoulder.

  Dimly she was aware of hurrying footsteps. A crowd seemed to be growing, conversing in urgent whispers. Muffled whimpers and grunts beside her suggested she was not the only captive.

  Then somebody proclaimed loudly: ‘This is the last one. We’ve got them all!’

  As a tremendous cheer went up, Tara’s stomach knotted. How could all the Elite have been captured? It wasn’t possible. It was a nightmare …

  ‘No need to keep them quiet now,’ Major Warwick said, as the echoes died away. ‘We want everybody to see their faces for the record.’

  The gag rope was released and a second drawstring about the top of Tara’s sack was loosened far enough for it to be pulled down over her shoulders, leaving her arms still confined. Spitting out hemp fibres, Tara looked fearfully about her.

  She was kneeling on the small grass traffic island around which the Close road looped. Huddled about her were the rest of the Elite Society, all confined as she was by identical drawstring sacks. The implication penetrated Tara’s dazed senses. The residents had been ready and waiting for them. They’d walked into a trap.

  Brilliant white starbursts began exploding silently round the huddled captives. Tara flinched and turned her head aside, but there was no escape. Every resident of the Close seemed to be wielding cameras and eag
erly making a record of their disgrace; Fanning, Stan and Louisa Jessop, Jim Curry, the Indian couple Raj and Narinda Khan, Roberta Pemberton and the lesbian pair Hilary Beck and Rachel Villiers. Even old Gerald Spooner in his wheelchair.

  Sobs and groans rose from the others as they realised the totality of their downfall. Gail was shaking her head in disbelief while Hazel and Daniela were openly crying.

  ‘Simple fuckin’ Simon told them we were coming,’ Cassie rasped, fear threatening to overwhelm the anger in her voice.

  ‘You said we could trust him,’ wailed Sian. ‘Now look at us. Why did I ever listen to you?’

  The lightning storm of flashes died away, leaving only Fanning walking round operating a digital camera on video mode, recording them from every angle.

  ‘Simon Pye did not betray you,’ Major Warwick said with a smile. ‘We have Mr Fanning to thank for the intelligence that brought about this little coup.’

  Tara could only gape in confusion at Fanning, who grinned back. ‘Didn’t you know?’ he said. ‘I build security and surveillance systems. After your first visit the other residents told me how you’d been persecuting them, so I put cameras and directional mikes in the trees round your house. When we learned about your fake holiday plan I gave Simon Pye’s place the same treatment. We recorded every scheming detail. So, still think I’m a sad wanker?’

  The residents laughed uproariously, but not at Fanning. Daniela turned her head aside in shame.

  Tara licked her lips, which seemed to have gone very dry. ‘What – what are you going to do now?’

  ‘Call the police, naturally,’ said Warwick. ‘We have all the evidence we need. This is the end for your precious little gang. What your families will say when they learn the truth I can only guess, but I suspect when what you’ve been doing becomes public knowledge none of you will be able to show your faces anywhere in this county.’

  The full implications penetrated Tara’s numbed mind as Major Warwick took a phone from his pocket and prepared to punch in a number. This couldn’t be happening …

  ‘B – but you can’t,’ she choked out.

  The Major’s finger hovered over the keypad. ‘What possible reason have we not to?’ he demanded, and there was a murmur of agreement from the other residents.

  ‘We – we can pay you,’ Tara said desperately.

  This offer was greeted by such a growl of derision that Tara shrank back from the ring of angry faces. The Major scowled at her in undisguised contempt.

  ‘You stupid girl! Don’t you understand you can’t buy yourself out of this? We’ll get compensation for damages from you or your parents in due course. That will be for the courts to decide and hopefully it will make up for the material loss we’ve suffered. But that’s nothing compared to seeing you and your friends receive proper punishment for the misery you’ve put us through.’

  ‘Narinda could not sleep at nights,’ Khan said angrily, pointing to his wife.

  ‘Do you know how much it hurts to be called those disgusting things?’ Roberta Pemberton hissed.

  ‘I had to go on tranquillisers,’ Curry admitted, looking ashamed but defiant.

  ‘Justice, that’s what we want,’ the Major concluded. ‘And we’ll settle for nothing less.’

  A fresh cheer went up from the other residents.

  ‘Please don’t do this,’ Gail begged, finding her voice at last. ‘I – I can see now what we did was wrong. It was just a game. We didn’t think it would really hurt anybody … We’ll try to make it up to you somehow. But please don’t tell the police. I’ve never been in trouble before. It would kill my mother …’

  Her tone was so pitiful that Warwick hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘I’m sorry for any distress it may cause, but your mother will not die of shame or embarrassment. Perhaps this will teach you to choose your friends more carefully in future …’ He punched in the first digit.

  ‘I’ll make you a better offer!’ Tara shrieked desperately.

  The Major paused. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Put the phone away, turn that bloody camera off, and you’ll find out. Just give me two minutes, then you can do what you like. What’ve you got to lose?’

  The Major and Fanning exchanged shrugs. Fanning turned the camera off while the Major closed his phone. ‘You have two minutes,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘and you had better not be wasting our time.’

  ‘Maybe we can’t buy you off,’ Tara said, choosing her words with care. ‘But money still buys good lawyers, and whatever our families think privately about what we’ve done, they’ll get the best for us. You say you’ve got evidence using hidden cameras. Isn’t spying on somebody’s private land illegal? It might not be allowed in court.’ Tara had no idea where the law really stood on that point, but she hoped the residents were equally ignorant.

  A slight uncertain murmur from the crowd told her she was right.

  Fanning tapped his camera. ‘This is evidence recorded on our property. You being here now is proof enough.’

  ‘Actually, isn’t this road public property?’ Tara said. ‘And you brought us here and tied us up. We haven’t done any damage to your property tonight, but we could accuse you of assault.’

  ‘And false imprisonment,’ Cassie added desperately.

  ‘So it might not work out quite the way you hope. OK, so we’ll probably get fined and it will be embarrassing for us and our families. But will that satisfy you?’

  Tara’s tone was measured but secretly she was terrified. Despite her assured words she had no faith in lawyers. In her mind’s eye she had an image of Hazel or Gail or Daniela crumbling in the witness box and telling everybody how she had incited them to persecute the residents of the Close. Tara wasn’t even sure she could trust Sian or Cassie in those circumstances. All the blame would be heaped on her. She might even go to prison. And even if she escaped that there would be the public ridicule and contempt, her picture in the gutter press being pawed over by the masses. Anything was better than that.

  ‘So what is it you’re offering instead?’ the Major asked.

  Tara took a deep breath. ‘Why don’t you punish us? Yourselves. Personally.’

  An incredulous murmur rose up from the residents, while the rest of the Elite stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Fanning asked.

  ‘Just what I said. You do …’ she gulped ‘… whatever you want to us. Any punishment you like, as long as it doesn’t do any lasting harm. But in secret. That’s the deal. Our parents and the police never know. Call it … natural justice.’

  ‘Tara!’ Sian spluttered. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘It’s better than the alternative,’ Tara hissed.

  ‘I couldn’t …’ Hazel moaned.

  ‘You’d let them get their hands on us?’ Cassie said in horror.

  ‘Would – would our parents really never need to know?’ Gail wondered.

  ‘I wish I’d never heard of your stupid society!’ Daniela sobbed.

  Curry sneered. ‘She thinks they can get away with having their bottoms spanked and being told to be good in future.’

  ‘You could spank us if you wanted,’ Tara said, trying not to let her voice quiver.

  ‘I think we should turn them over to the proper authorities as we planned,’ said Khan. ‘It’s not right to take the law into our own hands.’

  ‘Isn’t that what we’ve just been doing?’ said Louisa Jessop.

  ‘Yes, but we had no choice,’ pointed out Rachel Villiers. ‘We had to get indisputable proof.’

  ‘But will it be enough?’ Spooner wondered, frowning at Tara. ‘I don’t trust that girl an inch, but she has a point. It might be the proper thing to hand them over, as Raj says. But once we do it’s out of our hands. At least this way we’d be sure the punishment was suitable.’

  Khan hesitated, looking thoughtful.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind a bit of DIY justice,’ said Roberta Pemberton. ‘But we’ve had to live with the
ir persecution for over a year. How hard and how long would their punishment have to be to make up for that?’

  ‘What about as long as they planned to carry on this latest stunt?’ Jessop said. ‘We have them all to ourselves to do with as we like for the week they’re meant to be staying in Cornwall.’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ Fanning exclaimed.

  ‘Why not?’ said Jessop.

  ‘Might teach them some discipline,’ the Major agreed.

  ‘Does she mean we could really do anything we wanted to them?’ Hilary Beck asked slowly. ‘Not just punishing them, I mean, but anything that gives us pleasure to …’

  The strange tableau on the island of grass was silent for a moment as the full implication sank in. Somewhere out across the fields an owl hooted.

  ‘You could do what you want with us,’ Tara said quietly.

  The rest of the Elite were staring at her in utter disbelief. She said quickly, forcing the first words out: ‘Please … give us time to talk. In private …’

  The residents also seemed to need a recess for confidential discussion. In a body they moved a little way up the road and began debating urgently, leaving the Elite kneeling on the traffic island still confined in their sacks.

  ‘You can’t seriously mean letting them have – have sex with us,’ Cassie spat. ‘These are the people you hate. Look at them. It’s disgusting!’

  ‘It doesn’t change anything,’ Tara insisted. ‘We’re still the Elite. We can still prove we’re better than them.’

  ‘By being their – their sex slaves for a week?’ Sian said.

  ‘“Sex slaves”!’ Hazel groaned.

  ‘What do they know about keeping slaves?’ Tara said with contempt. ‘They haven’t got the imagination. And half of them are nearly past it. A few pokes and it’ll be over.’

  ‘Oh God! Do you have to put it like that?’ Cassie said.

  ‘Beck and Villiers are lesbians, aren’t they?’ Daniela said hesitantly. ‘You mean we’d have to do it with them too?’

  ‘Haven’t you ever tried it with other girls just for fun?’ Tara said impatiently.